


Peripherals

by CircusBones



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Ficlets, Friendship/Love, prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-13
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-15 13:45:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 5,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1306987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CircusBones/pseuds/CircusBones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompts from my blog, bits and pieces of Bethyl, both tv-verse and Howl-verse. Arrows and scraping nails and strung nerves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So these will be prompts from my Tumblr! Never fear, I'm finally finishing up the last few chapters of 'Howl', they'll be up soon! These rarely relate to each other. A few will be Howl-verse, most are tv-verse though. They're not always the cleanest, as they've been written on the fly, but hopefully they entertain. Enjoy!

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Prompt: "Hush"

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She's gotten so much better at being silent.

Her footfall is almost as soundless in the woods as his, and she's proud of that fact. The wordless communication came easy as well, even back when they were thoroughly annoyed with each other. Now, companionable silence can be a whole dialogue.

It startles her to realize that it was nearly dusk and they hadn't actually spoken a word outloud to each other all day, and she notes this quietly. Daryl nods, tossing a blanket back over the one window in the shed they'd claimed a few days back.

"S'just weird to think, how I always had to fill the silence, way back," She says, voice still low, sorting through the canned goods they'd scavenged that day. Sitting across from her on the dusty floor, he chuckles. "Now?" He rests his head against the wall, an arm across his knees, and her eyes catch his, the curve of her mouth turning up just a little.

His fingers twitch, but he doesn't look away from her, though his eyes do drift, and she knows he hears her. Their silence is always full.

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	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (could be Howl-verse)

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Prompt: She's Pregnant

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It's cold outside, real cold, the kind of cold only the North can deliver. He can't be inside though, not yet. For sure, he's not that much of a dick, he'll man up and face what's happening, good or bad, just…

He needs the cigarette, desperately, and he sure as hell won't smoke in the house no more.

There was that soft bed he'd wordlessly put together for her, hauled all the way to the farmhouse from some fancy, dusty furniture place and spread with all the good quilts. Daryl didn't have much to say, wasn't good with words, wasn't good at using them to get across just how he felt about a given situation.

Thankfully, Beth had known him long enough. She knew that responding to the news that she was knocked up and equal parts giddy and terrified, with a whole new bed, was probably the equivalent of a sonnet, given the source.

She'd woken up in a pool of blood that morning.

The front door opening and closing rouses him, and with a shaking hand he puts out his cigarette, looking up at Maggie as she approaches him, reaches for him even, and he lets her tug him in. "We knew she was too small, too thin," She whispers, and there's his answer. He crumbles a little, and she clutches him tighter. "I'm so sorry Daryl…there'll be others, though, this place is safe and she's getting stronger and…"

She says some other things, but it blurs. He just nods, kissing the top of her head before finally moving to go inside.

She's small and pale on the couch under a pile of blankets, the makeshift IV in her arm. He slips in behind her, wrapping her up in his arms, and she turns to press her face to his chest, silent tears seeping into his cold clothes.

"I ruined the bed…" She whispers.

"I'll make ya a new one." He promises, his voice breaking.

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	3. Chapter 3

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Prompt: Huddle For Warmth

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The signs and clues left by two groups that kept juuuust missing each other had begun moving North. Maggie was apparently convinced that Glenn had gone North, somehow, and so Beth and Daryl were following her trail, following his.

It's a good plan, turns out, as the chill of winter comes and Walkers start to freeze around them, either to the ground or simply in their joints, eyeballs twitching in otherwise motionless undead.

Of course, the downside is that living humans freeze too, if not tended to properly.

The house they're sheltering in that night hasn't any fireplace or woodstove, unlike the many farmhouses they'd been blessed to find in Virginia or Pennsylvania. It's early evening and they're on opposite sides of a scavenged camp stove, and Beth is already chattering in her layers. It had been different when they were moving, in the full light of day. Night was coming on though, and they were still, and she was so very thin…

"Gotta get some meat on those bones, girl," He murmurs, and Beth huffs on a laugh, still chattering.

"Get in line," She breathes, grinning, and Daryl's heart twists to see her lips tinged in blue, "Hell of a metabolism to have at the end of the world, huh?"

"Get over here," He manages to keep the threatening note of panic out of his grumbling voice, reaching for her. Beth presses her lips together, but doesn't protest, knowing full well that she's minutes away from shutting down. "Take off your coat," He instructs her, meanwhile tugging one of their quilts up over his shoulders, opening up his own layers and tugging her in close, wrapping them both back up again. "…Jesus, Beth, you're like ice," He shivers, and feels her shake with a laugh against him.

"Better the cold gets me than some damn rotten Walker teeth, right?" He's pretty sure she means it as a joke, but it aint funny to him in the least. He clutches her closer, her face pressing against his t-shirt under his sheerling-lined jacket, his leather vest.

"Nuthin's gettin' you," He maintains firmly, trying not to get too distracted by the scent of her hair…she'd washed it, last place they'd stayed, one with a working woodstove and its own well. Something girly-smelling, green tea he thinks the bottle had said. His hands clutch at her back. "Y'don't get to leave me alone, remember?"

"No last man standing," She nods, drawing in a breath, her skin warming against him, her face nuzzling up to his neck, making him freeze for a moment, swallowing hard, "…You smell good."

"S'called soap, finally gave it a try," He grins, despite the fact that she's kissing his skin, his jaw, the corner of his lips, "…Beth…"

"Just gettin' it out of the way, if this is gonna be a habit up here," She grins, her lips sliding against his, no longer any shade of blue.

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	4. Chapter 4

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Prompt: Touch

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She huffs into the early morning air, shutting her eyes, mustering her nerves.

It was a perfect morning. Those didn't happen often, not by the new standards. A morning free of Walkers outside one's shelter, a warm morning, a morning with just the right amount of fog, the right amount of dew, the smell of early summer on the air. And had she mentioned no Walkers? It was really important. No Walkers. No need to rush. No need to run, to hack, to stab, shoot. A languid, perfect morning.

She steps back from the window, sinking back to the bed they'd made on the floor. Beth'd had last watch, and so Daryl was actually sleeping for once, eyes shut, limbs curled around themselves. She reaches out, brushing his hair back from his brow, the slightest touch.

He responds, though, stirring in his sleep, leaning in to her fingers and Beth swallows hard, lingering.

A perfect morning. That had to mean something, she assures herself as she gathers her courage, as she moves over him, hands moving on his bare chest and arms, sliding over sinew and bone and muscle. He stirs further, mumbling, and then his eyes are opening, fixing on her face in an instant, wondering.

She slides her fingers over his lips, silent, steadying above him, and he relaxes under her, even giving her a small smirk under her fingertips. His hands slide up her thighs, and her eyes slide shut, reveling, settling, rocking her hips against his.

Touch. Feel. A perfect morning.

He turns her over, a desperate groan in his throat and she's wrapping limbs around him like a vice, helping him tug away layers, clothes, skin sliding over skin, teeth grazing collar bones, hip bones, her gasps slipping out and into the fog outside her windows.

Perfect.

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	5. Chapter 5

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Prompt: Stopping To Bathe

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"Not like it's anything I aint seen before," She talks over his flustered protesting in the water, smirking, "Lord knows ya whip it out to piss in front of me every chance you get."

"S'not the same," He grumbles, sinking deeper into the shallows, and Beth rolls her eyes, scrubbing the clothes he'd left on the river bank with the soap she'd dug up in their little shed. A shed they might well have to winter in, what with the chill that was creeping down south. The close quarters were what prompted the scrubbing, as the fall of civilization had a very telling…well, stench.

"Still can't believe we got used to ever bein' clean," She murmurs, tossing his clothes over a rock to dry, clean spares on the grass. "Thought I'd never forget those seven months on the run…"

"Might be lookin' at it again. Turn around!" Daryl shouts, and Beth just rolls her eyes again, doing so, crossing her arms and listening to him splash out of her water. As soon as she sees him grab his waiting scrap of a towel in her barest periphery Beth turns, somehow managing to pretend that the sight of his bare, scarred up chest for the first time in two years didn't send her heart up into her throat.

"Seen that too, case you don't remember," She hums, tugging off her shirt, kicking off her boots.

"…I really don't-… oh. Farmhouse, right," There was a wince in his voice, and from the tone she knew he was facing away from her, plucking up his crossbow as she shed the last of her clothes and hurried into the cold water with her soap.

"When Andrea shot you in the head!" Beth sighs happily, despite the cold, quickly, gleefully scrubbing off the layers of dirt and gore, letting down her hair. "Couldn't blame her, I thought they were haulin' in a walker myself." She teases, turning to look at him now that she's in deeper water. He's dressed, and looking at her, jaw working, bow still ready in his hands. That was why they'd gone together, after all… being alone, naked and unarmed was kinda ill-advised.

Practical. Still…he was lookin' at her, like that.

"…How did you get those scars on yer back?" She finds herself asking, meeting his eyes carefully now, treading water to rid herself of the messy suds. He looks down, shaking his head, though a little humor sneaks into his voice.

"We aint that close yet, Greene."

"Yet," She surmises, tilting her head, and he nods, slowly, looking back up as she moves toward the shore again. And he doesn't stop looking, not until the water's low around her waist anyway, his hands twitching on his bow as he finally glances away. Blushing, Beth swallows, reaching to take that same damp, musty towel he holds out, moving over to where she's got a clean sundress waiting on the grass.

She runs the towel over her limbs and head quickly, vaguely noting how long her hair has gotten, now that it's down and wet. His gaze is drifting back her way as she brushes it out with her fingers, her blue eyes flickering to meet his. "Not fair," Beth is very proud of her ability to cling to her sass, faced with Daryl Dixon giving her an unabashed once-over. While she's naked. "I got way less of an eyeful."

"Thought you just said you'd seen it all, back when you was sixteen," He murmurs, fighting to hold back a downright shit-eating grin. Though she knows she's likely a deep red by now, Beth grins right back, making a bit of a show of pulling the sundress over her head, of tugging her wet hair out and over her shoulder. He moves the barest inch forward, as if he can't help himself, as if tugged forward by some force unseen, and it makes something in her chest clench tight, stealing her breath.

After what feels like the longest moment of her life, Daryl finally sets down the crossbow, moves forward, slides a hand through her hair. He smells so good, too, when he tugs her in, buries his face in it.

He'd tell her all about the scars in the morning, each and every one. Lord knows they'd be close enough by then.

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	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Mostly fan-service, after this week :P)

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Prompt: More Bethyl!

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"Someone stole yer girl, is what you're saying?" Joe tilts his head, pondering for a moment, eying Daryl up and down. Daryl's not about to correct him…not yet, anyway. Beth aint his in any sense, save maybe being his only reason for not going with the ghost of Merle in his head, telling him to breathe the chemicals in deep, to go feral, to go with what's familiar, old, intrinsic…

To go back to being a fuckin' nobody, another bolt at some asshole's more competent elbow.

"Yeah, s'what I'm sayin'," Daryl nods, tilting his chin up, playing along because he has to, because he knows how to, because he might know this role a little too well, for all he knows these guys have to pull some other stuff he'd never do in a million years. His notion is confirmed when Joe smiles slowly, a weirdly warm smile, nodding.

"I can respect that," He replies, sucking in a merry breath, "Though, you know, I get my guys to help you out?" Joe tilts his head, and Daryl halfway excepts the terms, "You share. It's how we keep workin'…everybody shares. These men are loyal to me? Because I make sure they're taken care of."

A nerve in Daryl's cheek twitches, but he expects it doesn't give him away much. Joe would expect a man on his own to respond thusly to such conditions. Daryl makes a point of taking his time, of his fingers flexing on his bow. Lets the rage at the very thought bubble at the surface, glancing at the leering collective around him, defiant and charged, men who might have once passed as normal in the old world, their baser horrors kept in the dark. And then, he manages a slight slump to the shoulders, a low sigh, a hard swallow.

"I get 'er first," Is his agreement. A round of appreciative murmurs that make his stomach turn follows.

Never let it be said that Daryl Dixon didn't have a stone cold poker face.

"Let's go get yer girl, Bowman!" Joe beams, slapping his shoulder.

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The tracks aren't hard to pick up again. The house isn't hard to find, barricaded on the first floor to the nines and ringed in a herd of listless walkers. A low whistle over his shoulder, and for all these dicks are scum, Daryl knows it's the promise of stores like those in the trap of a funeral home that keeps them on task, has them storming the grassy lawn, the promise of food and warm company.

Traps like those that had gotten Beth in the woods snap up, get dodged, take down at least two of Joe's men right in the thick of walkers. He doesn't stop to help them, and he knows Joe notices.

The leader doesn't do anything, though, not until two more fall to the herd, 'til Daryl actively pushes another into waiting, rotting jaws. Joe dives for him, Daryl knocks him upside the head, and keeps running.

The old Victorian is fortified below, yet an inner strength overcomes him and Daryl scales the trellis on the porch with ease, swinging up onto the second floor balcony. He breaks a window, tumbles inside, bow raised…

He's in a large bedroom, he can see that much by the flickering light of an old time lantern. A chair is toppled over, ropes sliced apart, and by the door there is a body, dressed in undertaker black and still bleeding all over the floor. And standing over that body, long knife in hand…

"I waited until I heard you comin'," Beth breathes, her chest heaving, her blade dripping, a relieved smile on her face.

He drops his bow, he takes the room in two strides, he gathers her up on one arm and buries his face in her hair. She clutches tight to his vest, hands clawing at his back, and if possible he holds her even tighter.

"No way in hell I'm doin' this without you," He gasps, kissing the top of her head, drawing back and framing her face in his hands and kissing her forehead. "…Ready t'run?"

"Always," She gulps, and he swings her onto his back.

Joe's prone form is nowhere to be seen, and neither are those of a couple of his cronies. That's bad, he thinks, as they run through the herd as they've never run yet.

They'll handle it though, he thinks, grasping tight to her fingers as they duck under the treeline. They can handle anything.

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	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> blog prompt! a working tv/dvds
> 
> (yes I'm still alive)

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“No WAY,” She whispers, hitting the button on the small contraption. Having finished covering all the small windows in the basement game room of the small house in the small suburb, Daryl turns, offering a grunt. Beth grins, holding up the laptop-sized, portable dvd player.

”Battery’s still charged, by some miracle.” She notes giddily, “…Let’s watch somethin’!”

”….S’a surreal notion,” He blinks, trying to wrap his head around the idea after all these years. Beth is already shuffling over to the cabinet nearby, rummaging. “…An’ who has every season a’Diagnonis Murder?”

”Old people,” Beth replies, flatly. Which makes sense, half the furniture upstairs had plastic on it. Still, gran and gramps had obviously had grandkids, judging by the video games and disney movies. And Tarantino, apparently. “Well, how ‘bout this one?” She holds up Pulp Fiction, “Never did get to see it.”

”Good movie…S’kinda violent, though.” Daryl appreciates the irony about a second after the the words leave his mouth. Beth just snorts.

”I THINK I can handle it,” She grins, shuffling back across the shag carpet to their little camp in front of the sagging couch. Cans, blankets, lantern, and that one tiny piece of working electronics.

”Still.” He grumbles, as she pops in the movie and settles in next to him on the floor, perhaps a bit closer than usual, “Girl like you shouldn’t be likin’ movies with gimps in ‘em.”

”Girl like me shouldn’t be washin’ zombie brains outta her hair at night, but here we are, Daryl,” She leans sideways, and he grins, shaking his head as an alien, once-forgotten glow of a DVD menu bathes her face. Hesitating for only a second, he slips an arm across her shoulders.

“And a five-dollar shake…” He murmurs.

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	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> blog prompt: "Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips, We should just kiss like real people do"

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How is he yelling at her now?

While she’s on the edge of the hospital bed, Maggie tying off her stitches (she wasn’t letting Edwards touch the deep wound where the bullet had grazed her head, not when Maggie was there, not ever again), safe and whole yet looking even more like some patched up doll than before?

But even as she asks herself the question, she knows the answer. Knows it in the tense, wiry frame pacing in front of her, after Maggie hugs her tight and leaves them alone with a meaningful frown. Normal response, from a normal human who loved her, after a perfectly normal scolding.

Daryl was not normal. And Daryl was still going, long after everyone else had had their reunions and good-natured ribbing over her ill-timed chutzpah.

“Goddamned idiot, s’what you were actin’ like!” He growls out, wringing his hands.

“I was aimin’ for her neck, I missed, story’s ove-..”

“Perfectly good gun I was holdin’ didn’ miss! Think I’d’a let her take Noah?!”

”I didn’t know!” Beth bursts out, throwing up her hands, “In that dumb second?! Didn’t know if he meant anythin’ to anyone on that side of the hall but me!”

”WELL HE DOES!” Daryl yells at her, paces coming up short, whirling, suddenly standing inches from her, voice crackling with emotion and far from being intimidated, Beth feels a warmth swelling inside of her chest, leaning into his tenuous honesty, “Got us in, didn’t he?! Got y-…got y’back. You an’ Carol, he got us in an’ I’d… I’d a fuckin’ killed ‘em all before I let ‘em take Noah.”

”Daryl…”

His arm wraps around her waist, tugging her tight to his chest. A rough hand in her hair, a shuddered breath breathing in the blonde mess it’s been for God almighty knew how long.

“Such an idiot,” His voice wavers as he says it. Beth swallows, laughing around a sob. She pulls back enough to slide her hands up in his hair, to drag him down to eye-level.

”M’in good company, then.”

He busts out a laugh just before letting her drag him the rest of the way to her lips.

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	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> blog prompt: "Can you write what really should have happened in "alone". Daryl carrying Beth into the kitchen and having his way with her?" 
> 
> (I went "ish-y", as I didn't feel their first time would ever be full-on bangin' w/o regards)

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“What changed your mind?”

It doesn’t need saying out loud though, of course it doesn’t. The answer just hadn’t even vaguely occurred to her until he, for once, meets her gaze without flinching. That’s when her breath leaves her, a tightness winding up in her chest, and still those sharp eyes don’t leave her face.

“…Oh.” She finally breathes again.

A fumbling in the hall just outside the kitchen door snags across their moment, and Daryl’s looking up, tearing his eyes away from her to glare at the all-too-innocent one-eyed dog blinking back at them. Unaffected, the animal sniffs, moving on to continue his inspection of the funeral home. Beth can’t help snickering, and Daryl just sends her a squint, rising, shouldering his crossbow.

“Gonna do one last lockdown,” He rumbles, “Stay put.”

”Not like I’m goin’ anywhere fast, Daryl,” Beth replies, lofting her injured ankle slightly as she does. He rolls his eyes, muttering a curse as he goes that has her grinning into the dim candlelight.

The air is still heavy though, and after clearing away as much of their scraps as she can with her limited mobility, Beth settles into the thick, warm light of their little bubble, leaning back against the kitchen counter with a long sigh. There’s a hammering in her chest that won’t settle, that only speeds up when he circles back around to her, leaning in the doorway.

”We’re all clear,” He tells her, voice gone all soft again, and Beth’s fingernails dig into the linoleum behind her. Looking away doesn’t seem to be his thing tonight, eyes fixed on her as he moves forward. Teeth digging into her bottom lip, she makes up her mind within the space of a moment.

When his arms move to pick her up again Beth’s hands stop his at her waist, small fingers wrapping around his wrists, holding them there. He looks at her. She looks back, and she’s pretty sure that she sees what he sees.

In one second she’s Hershel’s daughter, she’s Maggie’s little sister, she’s Judith’s mama.

In the next, she’s the girl who survived, she’s the girl who doesn’t take one ounce of his shit, the happy drunk who’s deft with a knife and the girl who makes him believe that maybe not everything’s gone to hell.

That’s the second he’s lifting her up onto the counter, sliding a hand up into her hair and pressing his mouth against hers, like all the good oxygen left is in her lungs. After only the briefest of shocked moments she responds, her hands sliding up his arms and around his shoulders, sighing happily against his lips.

Beth’s been kissed before plenty. This isn’t anything like it. It’s messy and he’s clearly out of practice but under all that grime he smells so good and his arms are so strong and it’s Daryl and…

”Daryl,” She breathes back when he finally comes up for air, resting his forehead against hers, his fingers twitching on her hips, snagging on the frays of her jeans, “…You…y’can kiss me again…” She winces, it sound so stupid but then he does, and it’s slower, it’s softer, his tongue sliding against hers as he frames her face in his hands for a long moment. They slide back down again though, along her shoulders and her sides and shrugs out of her sweater, it’s just way too warm…

“…You ever…?” It’s the most awkward question in the world, but his hands aren’t slowing, moving to her fly. She grins, blushing a little, bending to kiss just under his scruffy jaw, breathing him in, her breath hitching as he tugs at her jeans.

“Twice, Zach,” Is all she intends to give him on that subject. He chuckles into her hair though, and it eases her so much more, even as she’s still shivering under his warm hands.

”Glad t’know he died a man, then,” He means it as a joke. She takes it as a joke, though he looks sheepish as soon as it’s out of his mouth. “Sorry…”

“Stop talkin’ about my dead ex, Daryl,” She murmurs, winding her arms around his neck and tugging him in for another kiss. He shifts in her embrace just so, tensing and relaxing in equal measure. His hand doesn’t falter though, sliding into her jeans and making her sigh into his mouth, biting her lip softly when he finds that she’s not wearing underwear.

(A girl learns to live without a lot of things in the zombie apocalypse.)

His hold on her tightens as his strokes find their mark, their rhythm, and Beth feels herself writhing and winding up around him. He’s muttering a thousand things into her ear as she leaves bruising kisses on his neck, and while she can’t make out all of them, a mantra does emerge while he’s fingering her up to oblivion.

”Can’t lose you…just can’t….”

Just before she’s about to come around his fingers on the cold counter top she bats his hand away, breathing hard, yanking at his pants herself. He’s bewildered right up until she’s wrapping her legs around his waist, looking him dead in the eye, letting him see, letting him know that she needs him just as badly. Wants him. He is needed, she can’t lose him.

He pushes up into her and Beth braces herself against the cupboards, letting out a long groan, one ankle crossing over the injured one behind his back. Daryl buries his face against her neck as she adjusts, and with just the slightest pressure of her hands, her legs, she lets him know he doesn’t need to hold back.

And he doesn’t, a guttural sound leaving his throat as he fucks her like a man starved, possessed. She swallows her cries as best she can, knowing they’d wake the dead in five counties if she doesn’t. Her fingers claw at him through his layers, her teeth drawing blood when he kisses her, her frame shuddering around his cock as they manage to come at the same time, tensing and wrecked.

In the moment he might’ve run, she clutches him tight. He relaxes in her arms, as he has so many times after much more of a fight, lazy kisses passing over her face. Her and her stubborn arms, stubborn heart that’s almost as ornery as his.

”Come’on,” He murmurs after long, aching moments, tugging her jeans back up, buttoning his own. Daryl carries on with his original aim, lifting her up easily and carrying her back to their front room.

This time though, he doesn’t sleep in the damn coffin, for which Beth is grateful.

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	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blog prompt: They get to keep the dog!

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Dawn is still about an hour off when he wakes up, sits up, cracking his neck. The makeshift bed on the funeral home floor isn’t nearly as cozy (or morbid) as the coffin Daryl had claimed the previous night, but the company is infinitely better.

…Right, the company. She shifts a little in her sleep, murmuring something or other into the blankets as he carefully untangles himself from the vice-grip she’d had on his arm. Beth’s limbs curl close around herself without him, hands burrowing into her sweater and Daryl’s fairly sure nobody’s ever looked so sweet. In the dim light, he barely hesitates before pressing his lips to her hair.

Across her feet, her new companion is looking at him though, practically squinting, and Daryl takes pause.

The dog is already fiercely loyal. Daryl supposes that’s a trait with all the Greenes he’s known. Had a way of making people latch onto ‘em. But he’s fairly certain the mutt is judging him, and judging him hard. It’s more likely of course that Daryl is just projecting, but that one good eye on the ol’ boy sure does seem piercing…

”…Aw hell,” He says, his voice low, “Yer just jealous.”

The dog looks downright indignant at the very suggestion. But sure enough, as soon as Daryl rises, intent on checking their perimeter before full light, his warm spot in the blankets behind Beth is taken. The dog’s gaze never leaves Daryl either, as his paws curl up under, his chin resting on Beth’s arm.

Daryl finds himself having to fight not to bust out a laugh.

“Well, now we’re on the same page then,” He concedes, tugging on his shoes.

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	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> blog prompt: "I need some serious fluff action with Beth/Daryl and Judith from before the prison fell. I will love you forever and ever."

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_And I know they buried her body with others,  
Her sister and mother and five-hundred families.  
And will she remember me fifty years later?  
I wished I could save her in some sort of time machine…_

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She was tired.

No, she was beyond tired.

Her mother had guilt-ed her plenty of times in the past, with tales of how Beth had kept her up at all hours (“and at my age, too!”), and now, with a motherless little girl in her arms fussing away at 3am, Beth could finally appreciate the sentiment.

It didn’t make Judith stop blubbering though.

”Oh baby girl,” Beth sighed into the night, bouncing the baby in her arms as she moved away from the cells as much as she could, her voice a sing-song on her lips. “People are sleeping, you should be tooooo…” She hummed, her feet taking her up the stairs to the Perch without much preamble, “Yer tummy is full, yer diapers are cleeeaaaan….”

”She’s missin’ her Pa, is what’s what,” A voice grumbles as Beth mounts the staircase.

”Oh…sorry,” Beth winces, side-stepping Daryl’s nest, “Thought you had guard tower tonight….”

”Not ‘til dawn,” The sharp-shooter yawns, his stance easy and limber even as he’s frowning up at her, and Beth smiles a little. She knows him well enough by now, to not take his grumbling too deep to heart, “Give ‘er here,” He rumbles, reaching toward her burden.

“I’ve tried everything…”

“What she wants is her Pa,” Daryl reiterates, smirking, patting the now-gurgling baby on the back, “May not know much ‘bout girls, but the lil’ ones aint so hard to read…”

”You aint wrong,” Beth sighs, plopping down at his side without invitation. Daryl only gives her a lofted brow, scooting over a little. “Rick still looks at her like…like I don’t even know,” She shakes her head, “All I know is he hands her off often as he can…”

“He’ll come ‘round, someday.” Daryl clears his throat, pretending to be very removed, unaffected, as Judith nuzzles into his shoulder, babbling happily now as a fully male scent fills her senses, no doubt. “…Should prolly sing again,” He grumbles, and Beth shoots him a wry little grin, that is also sleepy and weary and goddamn, for the first time Daryl notices how worn down she is. She, this girl who doesn’t go out on runs, who only sometimes clears the fences. The girl who’s only left with the baby….and the laundry, and the baby, and the cooking, and the baby, and the cleaning, and the baby…

”All right,” She murmurs, pondering for a long moment, before slipping into the first few bars of Oh Comely.

”…Little morbid,” Daryl muses, as her voice carries on and Judith’s neck lolls on his elbow, but Beth only smiles, shaking her head.

”What other lullaby fits a child of this world?” She asks, before trilling on, leaning sideways onto his arm. Daryl has no response, only listens, as she sings of the girl who died in Poland sixty years ago, their charge between them, huffing sweet breath into the polluted air.

He kisses Beth’s brow long after she’s fallen asleep, letting her stay at his side, as he lets the baby flail at him and ask questions in her unknown languages, tugging at his overgrown hair with her little fists.

When she woke, it was under his poncho, snuggled with her sleeping baby, sleeping away from all the nightmares this world surely gave her.

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	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by: http://burningupasun.tumblr.com/post/116542984771/imagine-a-scene-where-beth-lures-the-walkers-to

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“Hush, please hush,” Carl almost sobs, clutching the small burden in his arms close. She snuffles, she flails a little, not quite crying out, not yet. But she knows, she's not dumb, for all her 13 months on this earth. Daryl can tell, glancing at her through the moonlight, she has a knowing in her wide blue eyes.

Don't cry. Even if it's not in your nature yet, even if everything in your little body that's all nerves and reactions and wants and needs, screams for you to cry...

Don't cry. Even though there's a horde of smelly, groaning, nerve-shattering bodies on the other side of this barn, Asskicker, please don't cry. 

His finger goes to his lips, once, as they crouch behind the sagging old barn. Her wide, liquid eyes fix on him, her plump little lower lip disappearing under her milk teeth.

_“Ooooh...It's a long way down to the bottom of the river...”_

The voice is faint, wafting, ghostly.

The walkers' groanings take on a different tone.

_“If you get sleep, or if you get none, the cock’s gonna call in the morning, baby...”_

Somewhere off in the trees, but for all his pulse is pounding in his ears, Daryl doesn't hear a footfall, doesn't hear the light step he knows so well. Carl is staring at him, his face gone grey as she keeps on singing, as Judith settles, happy and safe in his shaking arms.

_“Check the cupboard for your daddy’s gun, red sun rises like an early warnin...”_

The shuffling of the herd follows her, wherever she is, whoever, whatever her shade is. Daryl doesn't allow himself to wonder, grabbing Carl's shoulder and shoving them forward in the opposite direction under spattered moonlight, away from their savior, away from the sweet, siren's song...

_“And I said hold my hand  
Ooh baby it’s a long way down to the bottom of the river  
Hold my hand  
Ooh baby it’s a long way down  
A long way down ...”_

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End file.
